The Portrait
by Q'ling Pa
Summary: a lost love revisited


Here's another jem dug out of its electronic grave. circa 2001  
  
The Portrait  
  
  
  
She found it at an ordinary old yard sale. It was one of those kinds of  
  
sales where the mom sets out all her old 'vintage' garbs from yester year  
  
and there's plenty of junk that really should be dropped off in the  
  
nearest recycle bin but the dad still thinks he can make a buck or two off  
  
of them. She told her friends she had no idea why such small time sales  
  
caught her eye. But inwardly she knew exactly what made her stop at every  
  
front yard she pasted Saturday mornings.   
  
She was a seeker of lost treasures, secretly of course. Her friends would mock   
  
her relentlessly if they knew that she hoped to find the hope diamond under   
  
someone's old pile of shoes (pun intended). Her favorite finds were the boxes   
  
of used paper and hard back books everyone seemed to collect over time. She   
  
loved to read good books and believed that the most beaten up dog eared copies  
  
would contain the best stories. She considered their tattered appearance  
  
to be a better recommendation on the author's work than any literary  
  
critic's citation. Those books that looked crisp and fresh were never  
  
given a second glance; they had been so unappealing to the first owners  
  
that she wasn't about to waste time and money giving them a second look.   
  
  
  
When she picked up the leather bound book stuffed in a dusty box at the  
  
end of the trash table (you know, the table that has all the 'as is'  
  
merchandise) her heart almost did the tango. Not only was it a copy of  
  
Oscar Wilde's The Portrait of Dorian Gray but it was hand monogramed. The  
  
inside cover has a personal message from an Olivia to her friend Marcus.  
  
  
  
The message read:   
  
To my dearest friend and brother Marcus,   
  
You have inspired my work in no less fashion than Dorian did for  
  
Basil. I can never thank you enough for sharing your courage and passion  
  
for life with me. Please treasure this book as a momento of our friendship  
  
as long as you walk upon this earth.   
  
Olivia   
  
  
  
Her mind immediately began to conjure up a adjoining tale to explain the  
  
affect this Marcus had on his friend. As she dazedly walked over to the  
  
homemaker manning the money box her right hand caressed the soft fabric  
  
covering her paper jewel.   
  
  
  
"Ahhh, I was wondering when someone would find great aunt Olivia's book.  
  
That one's been waiting for a new home for years."   
  
  
  
"Why would you sale such a gem stone?" she asked, "not that I want you to  
  
change your mind about ridding yourself of it." She dramatically clutched  
  
the book tighter to demonstrate her desire to own it.   
  
  
  
"Oh its been a bone of contention in my family for years. Apparently my  
  
great aunt Olivia intended to give it as a surprise gift to a friend of  
  
hers only to be devastated by news of his death the day before he  
  
was suppose to return. Olivia had been a struggling painter back during  
  
the turn of the twentieth century. Whoever this Marcus character was  
  
inspired her to send her work off to Europe. Olivia made quite a fortune  
  
in overseas commissions although she never enjoyed the money."   
  
  
  
Her curiosity was heavily peaked now. "What happened?"   
  
  
  
"Well, when she received the news of Marcus' death, according to my  
  
grandmom she just curled up into a ball and stopped existing. Her family  
  
was forced to put her away in one of those asylums for the rich and crazy.  
  
Most of her earnings went to pay for her upkeep and therefore nothing was  
  
left to save or invest. My grandmother's family had to care for her the  
  
rest of her life as if she were an infant. Of course, Olivia never painted  
  
anything else after that, ... except for the picture"   
  
  
  
"What picture?" she was almost breathless with anticipation wanting to  
  
hear more of the tragic story.   
  
  
  
"Look at the last page of the book." She complied quickly with the woman's  
  
request and turned to the back of the book. She gasped when she saw the  
  
portrait.   
  
  
  
The image had an almost life like quality to it; the details were so complete   
  
and clear she almost though it was a color photograph of the man. It was a   
  
picture of a young man, probably in his mid to late twenties. He had jet black   
  
hair perfectly styled and groomed. His countenance was incredible distinct; he   
  
had the aquiline nose of an aristocrat but the mischievous sneer of a barbarian.   
  
His checks were flushed pink with vigor yet were caramelized by sun golden rays.   
  
His jaw was strong and pointed; he looked like someone whose very presence   
  
exuded authority. But it was his eyes, his eyes that made her gasp. They were  
  
simultaneously emerald green like jade and rust brown like a warm sandy  
  
beach. They reminded her of her pet kitten's eyes that seemed to shift in  
  
color with both her mode and the lighting. His eyes conveyed so much  
  
passion; they looked like the eyes a man who had seen countless wars and  
  
sorrows while twinkling happily with glee. In fact, even on such a two  
  
dimensional surface his eyes had the depths of the ocean. She could swear  
  
that they were sparkling.   
  
  
  
"Oh my, she WAS good. I have never seen anyone capture the human eye with  
  
such accuracy. You can even see the man's soul in this."   
  
  
  
"yes," said the woman with disdain. "My great aunt had such a wonderful  
  
talent. Yet she threw it all away. My grandmother inherited the book and  
  
kept it buried away in the antic for many years. She hated that man in the  
  
picture, she blamed him for what happen to her sister."   
  
  
  
"How could she blame someone who was dead?"   
  
  
  
"She would say that her sister had wanted to make that man eternal like  
  
Dorian Grey and convinced herself that she could make it happen. That's  
  
why she painted that portrait, in a vain effort to bring him back to life."  
  
"Oh that's so sad. So why did your family keep it all these years?"   
  
  
  
"It served as a testimony to foolishness and wottonness. My own father  
  
would slap that book on the table in front of any of us who misbehaved  
  
and point to it and say, 'daydreams and mischief will turning you into you  
  
great aunt Olivia. Boy, would we straighten up after that lecture,.. at  
  
least for a moment or two."   
  
  
  
"So why are you selling it now?"   
  
  
  
"My brother's family said they didn't want the old relic and since it  
  
comes with such a tragic tale I didn't want to make a lot of money off of  
  
it. You know, its distasteful to profit off someone else's misery."   
  
  
  
"Yeah, I understand. So, uhmmm,... how much do you want for it?"   
  
  
  
"Are you planning on buying that bag of clothes over there?"   
  
  
  
"I can"   
  
  
  
"Good, then I let you have the whole lot for thirty dollars."   
  
  
  
"Thirty dollars, why that's robbery. I can't let you give this away so  
  
cheaply."   
  
  
  
"Honey, like I said, I couldn't live with myself if I made a profit off  
  
that book. Go ahead and take it, enjoy."   
  
  
  
She walked back to her car with mixed feelings. On one hand, the bargain  
  
huntress in her was dancing with glee over getting such a steal. But her  
  
wing bearing voice of conscious was shaking her finger at her saying 'how  
  
could you?' Oh well, I'll just enjoy it and then put it to good use   
  
ten months later....   
  
"Methos, why did you drag me all the way down hear to Sacramento just to  
  
see some old art exhibit? There's plenty of art back up in Cascade."   
  
  
  
"Joe, I didn't drag you. You said.. you begged me to share some more of my  
  
'mysterious' past with you for your twisted voyeuristic pleasure and now  
  
that I'm giving you an opportunity..."   
  
  
  
"Okay, okay ...your right man. I'm sorry. I didn't know that this show had  
  
some historical signifance to you. But just the though of MacLeod being  
  
left watcherless for a couple of days gives me the hives."   
  
  
  
"Yeah right, your just nervous about leaving him in charge of the bar in  
  
your absence. What do ya think you'll find when you return, electric burns  
  
in the ceiling?"   
  
  
  
"Now you know Macleod.."   
  
  
  
"Yep, trouble knocks on his door early in the morning."   
  
  
  
"So did you know this lady whose work they're showing?"   
  
  
  
"Yeah" Methos whispered. "She was a old friend of mine; one of those  
  
immortal regrets."   
  
  
  
"Oh"   
  
  
  
"Anyway, I kind of lost track of her work several decades back. I tried to  
  
keep track of at least one of her paintings at all times, but you know."   
  
  
  
"Places to go, immortals to hide from?"   
  
  
  
"Yep. That about sums it up."   
  
  
  
"So what lead to her discovery in the art world?"   
  
  
  
"According to exhibit director I called, several months back her last  
  
piece was recovered in an extraordinary way. Apparently that one piece was  
  
enough to spur the art symposium committee to search out her collection  
  
for a public display. "   
  
  
  
"So what time is the exhibit opening?"   
  
  
  
"We're not going to the showing."   
  
  
  
"Huh?"   
  
  
  
"Like I said, I was a close friend of the artist. She told me several times  
  
that she was going to paint my portrait; she said....said it would make me  
  
eternal,... but I never found it." Methos spoke of the memory in a hushed  
  
tone, unashamedly revealing its pain.   
  
  
  
"Aw man, I'm sorry to hear that. So you think there might be a picture of  
  
you at the showing?"   
  
  
  
"Probably. That's why I gave the symposium a hefty contribution check in  
  
order to secure a private viewing. I don't often visit this part of the  
  
world so maybe no one will make the connection. "   
  
  
  
"We hope."   
  
  
  
"Yeah"   
  
**********************  
  
  
  
She was glad she had donated the book to the local museum after reading  
  
the novel. She even prepared a synopsis of Olivia's story that she was  
  
going to present to the visitors later during the showing. As she walked  
  
through the halls reviewing the artist's work she felt herself being drawn  
  
back to the central room where the novel's portrait was displayed. The  
  
artist had certainly been talented but none of her other works compared  
  
with the final one. She was a bit startled when she over heard two men  
  
talking in the foreground. They were standing next ot the glass display  
  
case protecting the book. The younger of the two was rubbing his hand on  
  
the image copy of the book's dedication note mounted on a podium next to  
  
the glass case. She almost called security before remembering that one of  
  
the program's benefactor had requested a private showing of the  
  
collection. She tried to slowed down her walk not wanting to disturb them,  
  
but her cat like curiosity got the better of her and she slipped into the  
  
room and hid behind a partitioning wall.   
  
  
  
"Are you going to be okay?" said the older of the two. Both men had their  
  
backs to her so they didn't hear her approach. She changed her mind at  
  
introducing herself when she realized that the younger man was shaking.   
  
  
  
"Yeah man,.. you know I haven't had a reaction like this in a long while.  
  
Not since Alexis... Life is just too short for you guys."   
  
  
  
"Yeah, I know. When I look at you and Ducan, I wonder...."   
  
  
  
"Hey Joe,... uhmm,... do you think you could... uhmm.. give me a moment or  
  
two."   
  
  
  
"Sure man. I'll be in the lobby if you need me."   
  
  
  
The older man wobbled away with a visible limp in his steps. Her mind was  
  
intrigued by the younger man's response to the exhibit and wanted  
  
desperately to find out what caused it. He stood quietly over the glass  
  
covered case protecting the book that was opened ot reveal the picture.   
  
  
  
He chuckled sadly to himself. "Dorian Gray. If only you had known  
  
Olivia." sigh He slowly shook his head as he straightened up his slouched  
  
over shoulders. "Grow strong and live to fight another day." he murmured  
  
to himself. When he turned around, she had to quickly shove her fist into  
  
her mouth to keep from screaming.   
  
  
  
It was HIM! She knew, no matter how improbable it seemed, that the young   
  
man standing before her was in fact the same Marcus captured in the painting.   
  
His hair, his nose, and especially his eyes. His eyes held the same mixture of   
  
remorse and resolve as depicted in the drawing. How could it be? she mused   
  
to herself. The man scanned the room as if he could feel her presence but after   
  
finding nothing he shook his head again and turned back to the painting.   
  
"Good-bye dear friend. And I promise I will never forget you as long as I  
  
walk upon this earth." Then he walked out of the room. 


End file.
